Wishes, Dreams, and Prayers
by Satan's Sweeties
Summary: Quinn refuses to associate her less-than-hetero thoughts with that drunken train-wreck of a party at Rachel's house last year, but she can't deny that the Jewish control-freak knocked her world right off its axis that night. One-sided Faberry; Finchel.


An hour ago, you were questioning why the hell you were at Berry's house, but after six-odd glasses of… something, you're just so fucking deliriously happy that it doesn't even matter whose house you're at. And only adding to the joy is the fact that spin the bottle is a devilish game that makes for fantastic blackmail—case in point being how you, along with everyone else, have your phone out and are recording Finn and Puck and how laughable it is that Finn's trying to act like his best friend totally isn't rocking his world.

But he is. You know from experience; after all, Puck got you pregnant. He had to have been good.

You snort unbecomingly as Puck pulls away with a smirk and Finn just looks completely violated and satisfied at the same time, and you take another sip of whatever the fuck is in that plastic cup you've been nursing for the last hour or so.

It's your turn now, so you reach down and grab the glass bottle—covered in grime and fingerprints by now, but you don't give a shit—and spin it, cheering along with the rest of your intoxicated glee club. You don't even care who it lands on at this point—you just want to suck some face and have some fun.

Blaine, Kurt, Rachel, Finn, Puck, you, Sam, Brittany, Santana, Mike, Tina, Mercedes, Artie, Lauren.

Blaine, Kurt, Rachel, Finn, Puck, you, Sam, Brittany, Santana, Mike, Tina, Mercedes, Artie, Lauren.

Blaine… Kurt… Rachel… Finn… Puck… you… Sam… Brittany… Santana… Mike… Tina… Mercedes… Artie… Lauren…

Blaine… Kurt… Rachel… Finn… Puck… you… Sam… Brittany… Santana… Mike… Tina… Mercedes… Artie… Lauren…

Blaine… Kurt… Rachel…

The bottle stops, mouth pointed at Rachel fucking Berry herself. And you smile retardedly before taking another swig of your drink and leaning across the circle.

—

Quinn's back now.

Really back. Not pink-haired Quinn, not I'm-a-rebel Quinn, not out-of-character Quinn—just Quinn. Baby-doll dress wearing, Christian, blonde Quinn.

Hugs ensue.

But she makes sure to tell Puck that she will, come hell or high water, get Beth back. So it's nice to know that scheming Quinn hasn't gone anywhere and doesn't seem to be going anywhere anytime soon. Whether or not that's a good thing is debatable, but at least Quinn's back.

She doesn't tell anyone that the real reason she came back wasn't Shelby, or Beth, or anything like that; rather, it was Miss Rachel fucking Berry and her stupid optimism and cheer-up talks that brought her back to her senses. Bitch had just asserted her rights or something and sought Quinn out underneath the bleachers—with the Skanks around, too—to tell her about what the New Directions were up to.

Swore up and down that she didn't give a fuck, she did, but that didn't stop her wandering eyes from trailing after Berry after she spun around and left.

(Had Rachel always looked that… attractive? So heterosexual, Quinn.)

Half the reason she rejoined glee club was because of that ridiculous Booty Camp Shuester had set up. And as much as she tried to deny it, mostly to herself, she showed up just for the possibility of seeing Berry shake her ass like it wasn't anybody's business—just her luck that Berry was the one that didn't need it.

Damn.

Quinn refuses to associate her less-than-hetero thoughts with that drunken train-wreck of a party at Rachel's house last year, but she can't deny that the Jewish control-freak knocked her world right off its axis that night.

But the clincher? She wants to do it again. And again and again and again, until Rachel herself knows that Quinn's never going to give it up. She'll do anything to get those talented-ass lips back on hers again, no matter how stupid it sounds.

Fucking Rachel Berry. Going around and screwing with people's lives again.

Quinn Fabray doesn't take shit from anybody. Especially some little hobbit with the voice of an angel and the personality of a lemon. She will find some way to satiate what she wants while putting Berry in her place.

Hopefully, at least.

—

Rachel Berry is drunk off her ass.

You are too.

And that's probably the only reason you actually went along with spin the bottle, let alone decided to set your drink down on the floor and lean across the group to press your lips to hers. And it helps that she's a willing participant; nothing's more of an ego blow than someone resisting your advances.

The first thoughts to go through your mind are _wow, her lips are super fucking soft _and _this is nothing like kissing a boy _and _no wonder Santana and Brittany do this so often_ because, seriously, this is fucking awesome. Something that you can't name makes you lift a hand and slide it into her hair, grabbing behind her neck to pull her closer as you tilt your head to the side and move to kiss Berry's bottom lip.

Something makes her open her mouth.

That same something is probably what makes you decide this kiss needs some serious tongue and fast.

So you oblige.

Rachel's a surprisingly good kisser, as you soon find out once she's running a hand down your arm and her tongue over the inside of your teeth. And that's the spot; your oral g-spot, and she just hit it with a barrage of sexy.

You moan.

Puck wolf-whistles and brings you back to reality as the rest of the group cheers and you pull back to look at Berry's flushed face and dopey smile. You're suddenly insecure, which doesn't happen to you often because Quinn Fabray doesn't feel insecure because Quinn Fabray is beautiful and perfect, but something about Rachel makes Quinn fuck off and helps Lucy come into play, and Lucy gets insecure. Lucy was so insecure that she decided she didn't deserve to exist and invented Quinn instead.

Invented you.

And though you started off kissing Rachel fucking Berry, Lucy finished.

You hate that.

Rachel Berry makes you fall apart at the seams, and you can't figure out how to pull yourself together right now, so you just silently let go of Rachel and move back to your seat. Kurt's eyeing you carefully—not with scrutiny, but with sympathy, as if he knows something; maybe he does—and Santana pushes you gently, laughing.

All you can do is stare at the contents of your almost-empty cup and wonder when you started sobering up.

Sam grabs the bottle and gives it a spin.

But you just stand up and leave; Kurt follows.

You're not sure if you _want _to talk to him about what just happened; what does he know, right? But you know that you need to talk to someone and Rachel is out of the question and nobody else really likes you like Kurt does. So he follows you out to the front porch and sits next to you on the cold concrete, but before he can open his mouth to speak you break down and sob into his chest, muttering left and right that _I don't know who I am anymore _and _it was just a stupid game _and _why does she do this shit to me_ and Kurt just pats your head and lets you cry it out.

It doesn't help.

—

"Finchel" is back on.

It makes Quinn sick beyond belief. She's sick and fucking tired of everyone saying that they're "endgame," or they're "meant to be," or what-the-fuck-ever. When Quinn looks at them, she doesn't see a couple in love; she sees her stupid ex-ex-boyfriend and the physical embodiment of her self-doubt.

She likes Finn.

She also "likes" Rachel.

But she fucking hates FinnandRachel, because she knows that it will never be QuinnandRachel, never ever ever, and it just breaks her inside. There's MikeandTina, KurtandBlaine, FinnandRachel, SantanaandBrittany, MercedesandBubba, and then there's just Puck, Artie, and Quinn.

Puck and Artie have a chance to find love.

Quinn's is already taken. Happily so.

She admits it. She's in love with Rachel fucking Berry. And it fucking sucks. She doesn't have a chance to ever be with her because of FinnandRachel, and she'd give anything to change that first letter to a 'Qu,' because she deserves a happy ending, too.

Finn can have any girl he wants. Why does he need to have the one Quinn wants?

Rachel bounces up to Finn before class starts and giggles as she kisses him. Quinn has to look away to avoid breaking down right here and now, in the middle of the hallway, because she can't blame it on pregnancy hormones anymore.

In her prayers that night, she wishes that Rachel will realize that Finn's not the one for her and leave him for little Quinn, but then she sighs. Reluctantly, she recognizes that prayers are different from wishing for a fantasy, then prays that Rachel is happy for the rest of her life, no matter who that happiness is with.

She just wants the happiness to be with her.

It probably won't happen. But it's worth a shot.

(Is it really? Waiting your whole life for an impossible dream to come true does nothing but bring your spirits down. Didn't her parents teach her about reality?)


End file.
